


Sincerely,

by RumbelleDearie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Epistolary, Feelings, Friendship/Love, Love Letters, M/M, Mentions of Flint/Hamilton, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Regret, Self-Discovery, anonymous letters, letter writing, mentions of Silver/Madi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbelleDearie/pseuds/RumbelleDearie
Summary: When John receives an anonymous letter to his Inn in Nassau, he has shockingly found himself a new pen pal. The letters start out very anonymous - two strangers finding a kinship in the exchange of their haunting pasts. But soon similarities in their joint pasts begin to emerge.Then, everything changes for John when one of the letters is signed:Love,James.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 27
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The length of time that has elapsed since the finale and when this story takes place is completely up to your imagination.

To whoever finds this letter,

I write to you at a time of great mental upheaval. I have been struggling, in recent months, to accept the outcome of my past actions, to reconcile the damages I have caused in other’s lives all for a sense of justice I felt entitled to enact. I have often been forced to place parts of myself in different compartments; I have played roles for the benefit of others. It has left me feeling like the person of my past is separate and distinct from the person of my present self. I once thought that these men could never exist together, but as time extends, my desire to join these distinctions has forced me into an analysis of emotions and memories that bury me in regrets.

And thus, I come to the purpose of this letter - if of course you are still reading. My partner has encouraged me to express these emotions, to convey with the ghosts of my past as a healing exercise. Perhaps, this is something, dear stranger, that you might benefit from as well?

First, I wish to express an apology to a dear friend who was taken from me, by actions entirely of my making. I relied upon this friend and I let them down. I did not listen. I should have listened. I did not appreciate the companionship, the wisdom, the life they had to offer until their life was taken from me. I let the monster of society consume me. But then someone offered me a moment of honest clarity. This person saved my life, on many accounts. I thanked them once, but I do not think they grasped the depths of it then. And despite all of what was to come, despite everything, I still wish to thank them again. 

Hoping you too might use this letter as a way to seek forgiveness and give thanks, even to the past.

Sincerely,

A grateful stranger. 

— X — 

John hummed as he turned over the letter again to study the address; he did not know it. 

“What is that?” Madi asked as she entered the kitchen with a tray of empty glasses. 

“What?” John responded, too distracted by the distant voices of the past and the rough parchment in his hand. 

“Your face is all scrunched up, like you are confused.” Madi gestured towards her own face as John made a grumble of protest: his face, indeed, scrunching up as he looked down at the letter again. 

“It is an anonymous letter. It was addressed to no one in particular. I found it outside the Inn this morning along with a letter from your mother.” He handed over an envelope and Madi tucked it into the pocket of her apron. 

“That is unusual.” She moved around to stand beside John’s shoulder. “May I read it?”

“No!” John said, shocked by his own reaction as he held the paper from her view. Something about the letter seemed personal, like it was meant or him. He didn’t want to share it. 

“Alright then,” she walked towards the sink. “What is it about? Will you tell me that at least?”

“It seems like they just want someone to talk to, a stranger.” 

Madi hummed in acknowledgement. “And are you going to write back?”

“No, that would be…” but he couldn't grasp the thought. In truth, he wanted to respond. 

“I think it would be good for you to have someone to talk to.”

“I talk to everyone,” he defended and was rewarded with an eye roll and a dish towel being thrown at him.

“If you aren’t going to write, you can do the dishes instead.”

John picked up the goose feather. 

— X — 

Dear mystery author,

I have read your letter and can understand your desire to put your feelings into the written word. As a young man I would have thought this foolish - I was ready to forget an unremarkable youth of suffering - but as an older man I have come to learn how the past can shape us. Specifically, how our very actions affect others - you have found a kindred spirit in that regard. Although I am often known for running my mouth, I find discussing emotions and the past distressing; normally, I would refuse to partake in writing them down, out of fear, but I connected with your letter. I have never been afraid to be vulnerable before, but I have been afraid of how it might weaken me in the perception of others. Like you, I have struggled with playing a role, with being conscious of how others view me. I have been forced to look strong when I am weak; to look in control when I am in pain. I have been the purveyor of legend - if you can believe it. It is consuming to play someone you are not. Yet I think I have done so my entire life. I would like to know more about these compartments of yourself - is that how this works, am I allowed to ask questions about you?

In regards to your regret, I can only advise you to accept it. I myself have done things I know I should regret; but I simply cannot, especially when they led to the best possible outcome, despite the anger and suffering they caused. Have you ever had to make an impossible choice? 

I think forgiveness should always be granted to those who seek it. It takes great courage to apologize. I myself am not religious - I used to be as a child, but it got me into more trouble than it was worth. Regardless, I think your friend would forgive you. In addition, it sounds like you already found someone that showed you this, the moment of honest clarity and perhaps the power of forgiveness. Perhaps through this second partnership your friend was trying to tell you that you already have their forgiveness? But what do I know?

If I were to seek forgiveness, it would be from my wife. She is a strong woman with the voices of many as her burden. She always puts others above herself. I betrayed her once - in her eyes. I stopped her from helping other people in her community because I was afraid she was putting her own life in danger. I do not regret this. She is alive. But I know, even though she has said she has, I know that I do not have her forgiveness. I will never have her forgiveness. Someone once told me that if I saved her life, my wife, she would never forgive me for choosing her over the community - that there was a slim chance I could ever persuade her to keep me. I hate that they were right. I really hoped they would be wrong. I just wanted to matter. I just wanted to be enough for her, even though I knew I never could be.

Ironically, the person I need to thank is the very man who had been right about my wife’s feelings. That man taught me how to lead, how to care for others. He taught me the shape of so many things. It is difficult for me to think about. This man who helped form me.

Steadfastly awaiting your reply,

S.

— X — 

Dear S,

I was shocked my letter received a response - but grateful, despite the trepidation I feel while writing. It is remarkable that you welcome your vulnerability. Whereas, I felt I have spent half my life hiding my softer side, out of fear and a need to maintain the personas we speak of - those expected of us by others. I am very glad, as you say, that I appear to have found a kindred spirit. It sounds like your roles have forced you to suffer and I am sorry for it. Know this, people will judge you regardless of how you appear, so do not be afraid to be true. If only I could so easily follow my own advice!

What is this about you being the purveyor of legend? - and yes, questions are most welcome. 

To answer your question, I compartmentalize myself into the roles I have played: lover, leader, sailor - they are separated by the person I was before I experienced great loss and the person I have become after. I seem to go through a shift each time I lose someone that held strong footing in my heart. I have yet to reconcile all parts of myself. At least, this is what my partner has observed. 

I drown in my regret. I cannot comprehend how yours is absent. There is truly not a single thing that you regret? 

Sometimes, my whole life feels like it has been one impossible choice after another…

I feel as if you have unknowingly helped. For some uncorrelated reason your belief in my right to be forgiven makes me feel as if I do deserve it. Because I know if this friend were still here she would grant forgiveness - I am certain of this. As for your thoughts on my second friend, perhaps their partnership did help me to cope with loss. This individual taught me that there is always a way out of any situation; I like to think that extends to feelings of loss, regret, sadness, rage, and so forth. I’m sad to say that this friend is now lost to me too. I hope that this bond can be mended one day, but it is a very complicated story.

I am sorry this male influence in your life was right about your wife. I am truly sorry. She sounds inspiring.

You mentioned your relationship with this man is difficult to speak about? Did it end badly? I understand if you do not want to share.

Sincerely,

Your new friend M. 

— X — 

Dear M,

I am pleased with the great speed in the development of our newfound friendship - although perhaps it is easier through the written world. I must admit, I have never made friends easily and it has become incredibly difficult in recent years to trust. However when I write to you M, it feels as if we are old friends and instead of feeling panic, as if trapped in the past, I feel welcomed home. It is most unusual for me. Is it unusual for you as well M?

Your advice about truth in oneself is wise. I promise to follow it as soon as you do as well. Although, I must confess that at this very moment even I find myself in hiding: less so emotionally, but physically. There is a man from my past with whom I strongly wish to avoid. You're not he are you? This is not some clever ploy? This man in question did have an M initial, although I knew him by another name. In fact, he was quite responsible for creating the legend I speak of - but I daren't say more for fear of discovery (especially because you mentioned you were a sailor). I too was a sailor once, out of necessity not desire. I hate the sea in fact - dreadfully so. I wanted to escape my time as a sailor until my former Captain became my friend. I like to think that for a time he relied upon me even. I learned how to belong with a crew - if you are a sailor I am sure you know the feeling. Belonging, that is the only thing I miss about sailing. I even sustained an injury at sea many years ago - it made it quite impossible to be aboard a ship, but the crew of men still supported me. Don’t tell my wife, but that's the part I long for sometimes. 

I find your compartmentalization fascinating. It does sound like you subconsciously do this to cope with tragedy. I understand now why you feel as if parts of yourself are hiding. I myself seem to bury loss. If I refuse to remember it exists I can’t feel the pain of it - logic or lunacy, you tell me; although my wife is certain of the later. She is probably quite right - don’t tell her I said that. It’s actually infuriating how correct she often is. It sounds like we both have very supportive partners. Are you able to talk with your partner about this reconciliation of yourself, or is it to remain here, exchanged between letters? 

If you find yourself drowning, despite my injury, I am quite the accomplished swimmer. 

In terms of regret, I’ve never told anyone this and I’m even afraid to give it life in the written sense. This has troubled my mind for years. But I suppose this is the point of our letters, to engage with difficult emotions in order to come to acceptance. 

I was in love once and I never told them. I didn’t know that I was in love at the time. I was so confused back then. I had also just met my future wife at the same time as I began to fall in love with this person, although I wasn't conscious of these emotions back then, not really. I noticed they manifested into admiration, trust, loyalty, true friendship, and a depth of caring that I do hope this person felt or recognized. It also led to impossible decision making. I do not regret the decisions I made. I regret not being able to tell this person that I love them - or loved them, I’m not sure given the effect of time. I have come to accept these feelings and I think about them frequently. I regret that I didn’t know. I regret never getting the chance to love them, or maybe even be loved by them. I suppose that is the true tragedy of it. In hindsight, my wife was a more socially acceptable partner (given if you truly knew us that statement in itself is absurd: we are a mixed race family - if that bothers you, I have no desire to continue these correspondence.) Instead of drowning in this regret, I have come to live alongside it, to acknowledge it every day. I think this helps chase away the sadness. 

Will you tell me about those you have loved?

I am most pleased to have helped with your forgiveness. Your letters are also helping me to communicate that which usually remains secret. Your second friend sounds quite clever and I must agree with them - there is always a way out! It is a good sentiment that it should extend to our feelings and I do hope it proves to be true for you, that you will find peace. 

I love a good story M, I’d love to hear about your friend.

I shall inform my wife that even the former stranger I correspond with finds her impressive, it will do wonders for her already inflated ago - I say that fondly and with admiration, of course!

I must admit M, when I came to this part of your letter I had to pause. Even as I put ink to the page I haven’t decided what to write. The man in question was my Captain, my friend. It ended badly. I think he felt betrayed. Although my motives had nothing to do with betrayal. He was headed down a dangerous path, a noble one, but dangerous. His actions would have led to the death of our men, even my now wife. So I put a stop to him. I knew even then, it would be worth it if we were all alive, my wife, the men, my Captain. I could survive him hating me, so long as I knew he would be alive to do it. I had thought my actions were right. I wasn’t motivated by fear, but by affection. Even my wife refuses to believe this. I am certain a small part of her thinks me a selfish coward. Perhaps I am selfish for wanting them alive, to be with them. But I take comfort knowing she is alive to think it. Besides, hate and love both come from the same passionate place - do they not?

Affectionately,

John.

— X — 

Dearest John, 

Your last letter was very engaging and moving. I also have a difficult time making friends; I could count their number on a single hand. Thus, it is also unusual for me. I feel as if I have known you forever, as if in some regards, through knowing you, I begin to know myself. 

I am not sure if I am the man you speak of, given that you have not confided his name. Rest assured my intentions are pure. I mean you no harm, truly. It sounds as if this legend might be compromising, legally speaking. I am no stranger to crime against the crown, at least I used to be. I am a simple carpenter now. Out of curiosity, if this were a ploy, what would you do?

Your dislike of the sea still perplexes me. I myself have wished to escape it, but I will always miss the wind and taste of salt. While I have not known the feeling you felt with your men personally - I have never been a ‘crew’ man, more solitary in my nature - I have seen it exchanged between fellow shipmates before. I once knew a man who could bend any and all men to his will. 

I do hate to tell you this, given what I have gleaned of your history, but your wife is quite right; burying loss is lunacy, although we are all guilty of it in one way or another. But I promise I wont tell her!

You are quite right, my partner is very supportive. I had been separated from them a few years back due to work reasons. When they were returned to me, I knew I could never leave them again. I am very grateful to be united with them once more. Very grateful. That being said, I find some things - criminal things from my past days as a sailor - difficult to discuss. Particularly the loss of friends I have mentioned. My partner is patient, and thus encouraged me to pursue this correspondence so that I might be able to communicate all parts of myself with them, as a whole man, in future.

In regards to your swimming skills, it would not be the first time someone saved me from drowning.

On the note of your injury, I hope you take better care of yourself now.

I find myself in awe of your confession. My heart feels alongside yours, beating within the breath of each written word. Is it true? In all your past, your only regret is not loving this person?

I have no problem with the race of you or your wife. I believe in love, above all else. We should be able to love without shame. Are you often judged for your relationship? Speaking of, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if you and your wife have children?

I have been fortunate enough to love three people in my lifetime. The first, was the friend whose forgiveness I sought. I must tell you, we were lovers for a time, but our relationship transcended into a different bond after I met my current partner. She loved me like no other, in a different sense of the term. She was a friend, lover, confident, partner, mother. She was many wonderful things. She loved all parts of me, wholeheartedly and completely. It was wondrous to be seen like that. 

My current partner is the truest love I have ever known. Loving them, awoke me. 

My last tale is eerily similar to your own. I was deeply in love with someone, the very friend with which I spoke of a complicated story of loss. I too never told them. I knew they couldn’t comprehend their feelings. I knew they didn’t want the life I was fighting to build. But I needed them. In all my life, I have never felt as connected to another person. It was as if we were one. You mentioned that you hoped the person of your affection recognized your depth of caring: they knew. Given my experience, they knew. I know. 

I met this friend aboard a ship I was on. At first he was a man of questionable morals - yes, he was a man. It took me a long time to trust him, but he showed me I could. Our friendship was built upon lies, and then mutually aligned interests, and then respect. Everything fell apart when our interests shifted. It is one of the reasons I left the sea.

Do you know that you have a skill of injecting humour into almost any conversation?

In regards to the friendship with your Captain, I know that you did not ask for it and that I am just a stranger to you, but I give you forgiveness on his behalf. I do not think you are a coward, you are very brave John. And you are not selfish, you have a large capacity to care. Your friend might have felt betrayed at the time, but I am certain that now, he just misses you.

The line between love and hate is a thin one that you and I both know too well.

Always,

M.

— X — 

Dear M,

I must confess that your last letter had me feeling as if writing to a ghost. Is it bad that I picture a select person from my past as I write to you? I have yet to decide if the pain in my chest is blossoming hope or abject terror. It is a scary feeling to be known by another person, particularly with one whom I have not met in the literal sense. 

Before I proceed any further I must ask: where you, by any slim chance, ever on the account? I ask not out of a desire to report you, or be beguiled by tales of pirates; but because, for a short period, out of necessity, I too was on the account. In that vein, the man with whom I speak is Mr. Manderly, known to me as Billy. Ever since I left the account he has been hunting me, wanting revenge of a sort due to my leaving and the ending of our friendship. If this was a ploy I would be quite disheartened because I have confided in you and begun to trust you. That building affection, however, would not stop me from ensuring you do not bring any harm to myself, but especially my wife. I have ended men for her before. 

What type of carpenter are you? My wife has been harassing me to fix the porch of our Inn, but I’m quite useless in that regard - among others. 

I myself used to be a solitary man, but I learned that even the loan among us needs company.

I knew that this friendship was too good to be true! Why must everyone always side with my dear wife! (Although, even I secretly always side with her as well.)

On the subject of my wife, I am glad you are forward minded (as am I). I have known few men that think openly. Where we currently live the native islanders, those who call Nassau home, do not give us a second glance: my wife is a leader among the community of freed slaves. It is the English who sometimes refuse to stay at our establishment when they find out. 

It is just my wife and I. There are no surviving children. We came very close once. 

As I said, I myself am a modern thinker. I happened to notice you never allude to your partner's sex. Know that I accept you as you are, regardless of how you love, as should others. 

Speaking of your partner, it sounds like you are very lucky to have them and that you are very much in love. Hopefully you will be ready to share with them soon. 

You are also very lucky to experience such unique bonds of love. I did not know what love could be until I met my wife. In many ways she is a mirror through which I now see the world.

I am overcome by the sincerity of your words. I cannot respond with comprehensive thought. Our stories are quite similar, you and I; opposite faces on the same stolen coin.

You are not a stranger.

John. 

— X — 

Dearest John,

I too attempt to envision people from my past, one in particular, as I write. But lately I have been trying to conjure images of you and your wife at present. I wonder how the sea might have aged you; I wonder if sorrow can be read upon the lines of your face; I wonder about the state of your hair and of your leg.

It is true, I was an honest sailor for a time, but I was on the account. So I know about many of the legends surrounding it. I am quite familiar with one in particular. And rest assured, you do not have to worry about Billy; last I heard he was drinking himself to oblivion and routinely getting himself kicked off of crews in Tortuga.

I shall keep your ability to protect your loved ones in mind as we progress in our relationship.

I mostly work with ships and houses. But I have been known to craft furniture when called upon. Perhaps I could give you a written tutorial in how to fix your porch? I am sure we could manage to thoroughly surprise your wife! I am very sorry to hear about the children. I had hoped - I envisioned you as a father.

You are correct and observant: my current partner is a man. I know that you are earnest in your thinking; I feel safe confiding this to you. And you have made me feel accepted. I am a very lucky man. 

Please know that I have meant every word I have exchanged with you.

I am afraid that it is time I confessed something, although I can not help but wonder if you already guessed; I know you John. I have known you. Our pasts have exchanged with one another. I was afraid you wouldn’t write back if you knew. But I know you John, and you once knew me. 

J.F.M

— X — 

No reply came.

It had been over two weeks, well past the time it usually took for his post to arrive. 

Silver had gone silent. It was exactly what James had expected would happen if John knew the letters were not completely anonymous.

So he sat and he drafted another letter. 

— X — 

John Silver,

Please, I beg of you, do me the service of reading this letter before destroying it! I am sure, by now, you have guessed my identity. 

Several months ago Thomas was in town and learned of yours and Madi’s address. As you know, Thomas convinced me to write to you. I knew it had to be anonymous because I did not think you would respond to me otherwise - I was shocked that you replied to an unaddressed letter regardless. 

I have been entirely truthful in every thought, feeling, emotion, and word that I have shared with you these last few months John. I have missed you and there are things I have needed to share with you, things I needed you to know. 

I do not feel betrayed by that day on Skeleton Island. At the time, for months afterwards, I was angry, but the moment I saw Thomas’ face I forgave you. I forgive you John. I understand how you felt in that moment now. I am saddened our work - mine and Madi’s - remains unfinished. But I am glad that we are all alive. Whether you made the right decision or not is of no consequence. I forgive you, and more importantly, I thank you for finding Thomas - for bringing me back to him. 

Truthfully, it is I who seeks your forgiveness. In the early days of our partnership I used your influence with the men to my own advantage. I often convinced you to follow my way of thinking because it suited me, because it led to the outcome I wanted, but I never shared the truth of it with you. I was often manipulative and it sickens me. I am sorry John. It was not until you brought me back from the brink of death at the Maroon Camp, when Madi entered our lives, when you showed me another way out - there is always a way out - that I realized welcoming a true partnership with you would benefit me. It was from that moment on that I began loving you John. With each day, our friendship grew. With each day you showed me how intelligent you were; how intuitive; how resilient; how you cared for our men wholeheartedly. And then I got to watch you fall in love. And it was beautiful. You were beautiful. But a part of me felt broken because I knew I could not tell you.

By the time we began to train on the bluffs I was beginning to love you John, and yet even then I was still afraid of what we were becoming, what you were becoming; I only used one hand when I taught you how to fight. I don’t think you ever noticed. But most men have two. 

But my affection began to run deeper. 

By the time we sailed for Nassau I was very much in love with you John. By the time I thought you had died, I was very much in love with you. When I gave myself over to Eleanor, I was very much in love with you. When I was prepared to let Rogers hold on to Madi, I was still in love with you. When I buried that fucking chest I was in love with you. When I killed Dooley, it was because I loved you John. When we stood there, for hours, days, a year, and I watched you cry with your back to me, I loved you; and I was broken hearted. 

I wonder; if I had told you, would things have been different?

You weren't ready and I knew it. But sometimes I saw things, in your eyes, in the way you spoke with me: I wondered and I hoped, maybe you felt it too? Reading your letters, learning that you did - I have shed many tears while reading John. I regret not being able to love you as well, to be loved by you.

I am sorry how it all ended.

I am sorry that it ended.

You were right, that night before the battle on Maroon Island: you, John Silver, were my end.

Love,

James. 

— X — 

Two weeks later and there was still no response.

James was distraught.

Thomas had tried to be positive in his overly idealistic way, but James just wanted to mourn the death of yet another thing in his life.

— X — 

Then everything changed.

Next Sunday morning there was a small knock at the door. It was mid day.

James stood to answer, prepared to tell whoever it was to leave. He opened the door, the light from outside cascading over the floorboards.

There, with a smile on his weathered face, stood John Silver and his wife Madi. 


	2. Chapter 2

James stood motionless. He was unsure the picture presented to him was real until Madi brushed past John’s shoulder, forcing him to adjust his crutch for support. She reached up to cup James’ face. Within her grasp she adjusted her hold, turning him to view all angles of his profile.

“It is you,” she breathed in disbelief before pulling him into a hug. “We didn’t get to say goodbye,” she mumbled against his shoulder. 

James took the opportunity to look at John, he still wasn’t convinced they were real and that they were here.

“She was still quite certain that I had killed you,” Silver said flippantly, as if years had not passed between that moment and now.

When Madi pulled away from him, and Thomas had risen from his chair, James noted that Silver still stood on the outside of the door's threshold; he felt he needed permission. Even now he was not sure if he was wanted. 

“Please come in,” Thomas said observantly, puzzling together the significant identity of their guests.

John was fixated at James; in an act reminding him all too much of the past, James sent him a nod and John’s crutch landed on the floor of the house with a thick thud. He entered. 

“Thomas, this is Madi,” James gestured towards her, “and her husband John.”

Thomas shook the hand that Madi extended before directing his attention to John. Their shake was firm and Thomas brought his second hand up to clasp over their joint hands. “I suppose you are the man responsible for bringing James back to me. You have my gratitude.”

John gave him a tentative smile as they were guided into the kitchen. It was a small cottage. The living room was in the front entrance of the house, the kitchen and dining table in the room to the left, and two small bedrooms in the back. Thomas pulled out Madi’s chair at the dining table before fussing over the making of tea.

John hooked his crutch over the side of his chair and let out a sigh that everyone, for their own benefit, ignored.

“I really thought you were dead,” Madi began. “How did you escape the plantation?”

James sent John a look, his eyebrows were raised for a brief period before his jaw clenched and they sunk, his expression going from shock to concealed anger quite rapidly. “You didn't tell her?”

John shuffled his foot beneath the table.

James looked towards Madi. “The gold John gave Ogelthorpe wasn’t just to cover his silence. It was enough to secure our release.”

Madi’s head snapped towards her husband. “John, is it true?”

John turned to her, but he didn’t say a word.

“Why would you not tell me this?” she was angry now. “Why would you have me think the worst of you, all these years?”

“I didn’t want you to go looking for him. This fight was going to kill the both of you and—”

“I know.” Madi cut him off, it was clearly a fight they had many times, and it went much the same way each time. 

Thomas, clever as always, took the moment to interject as he placed the tea tray - porcelain cups - onto the table. “We went from Savannah to South Carolina and then we came to Nassau about a year ago; our cottage is far enough away from town, no one really comes up to the cliffs." He sat down in his own chair. "James has been slowly opening up. When I heard about your Inn, I encouraged him to write - to express what he has been suppressing.” 

“Yes. The letters have had a profound difference on John’s demeanour in recent months. But when he said that the identity of his corresponder was Captain Flint, I was shocked.”

The room fell silent.

_Captain Flint._

“I am sorry,” Madi realized her error. “I’m not certain what I should call you?”

“James,” both James and John replied in unison - a look of understanding and longing passing between them.

“Yes well, James, perhaps you should take John to the cliffs overlooking the beach?" Thomas suggested. "It is a lovely spot and nothing will be resolved if you two don’t get a chance to talk about the content of your letters in private. Madi and I will be fine, we might even have some food prepared for you upon your return and then we can all have a civil meal.”

James looked towards John, who looked towards Madi. Once everyone was in agreement, John reached for his crutch.

— X — 

“They are in love, yes?” Madi said to Thomas after she took a sip of tea and the boys in question had left. 

“I’ve had my suspicions about his feelings, yes. The way he talks about you and, specifically, John.”

“If you had seen them together, back then, it was as if they were of one mind - they could have moved the earth together. I was never sure, of course, I don’t think John was sure himself. I think it might have been easier for him to love me; not that he doesn’t truly love me, I could never doubt that. I knew about you and Cap-James, so that too made me wonder. But now, and with the benefit of time, it is very clear to me: they love one another.” 

Thomas smiled wistfully. He knew how painful it was to be parted from the one you love. He didn't want that for James. 

— X — 

John was reminded of another time when they walked among the beaches together: when he had been a dead man walking and they had first become a _‘we’_. He had loved him then, and he had known it, he just hadn’t understood it.

“You’re not planning on throwing me over these cliffs?” he jested, filling in the silence as he hopped along, the steady thump and shuffle of his gate echoing in the wind. 

“Why did you come?” James froze. He turned back to look at John, at the soft expression on his face. 

“Forgiveness is best given in person. I think we are both in need of it.” 

James was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say to the man who stood before him, his back warped from the weight of using a crutch these past years; to the man who had delivered him to Ithaca; to the man he had longed for, hoped for, and missed. He didn’t know what to do with these feelings now that the object of their origin was here. 

“Come,” he finally said, “it’s not much farther.”

John was relieved when he spotted the little wooden bench, no doubt made by James. John hated to admit it, but walking a great distance caused him more discomfort in recent years, more so to his shoulders and back than his stump. 

James sat down on the bench first.

John pretended to be interested in the view of the waves crashing along the shore before moments later he too took a seat. 

“You haven’t been taking care of your leg.” James noted - the entirety of John’s knee was gone now.

“Did you really make me walk all this way to talk about my leg?”

James snickered, feeling warmth tingle in his fingertips with the freedom of being able to laugh at one of John's smart remarks.

“Did Thomas really find us by coincidence?”

“A happy one, yes.”

John nodded, feeling the weight of the unspoken written word between them. Taking the chance, John reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small bundle of parchment.

James swallowed. His throat felt dry.

“I kept them,” John explained as he smoothed out the parchment. “I read them over and over again when I knew, for certain, it was you.”

James noticed that parts of his original letters had been underlined and there were annotations made in the margins by John’s hand.

John pulled out a specific letter. “Do you really seek it? My forgiveness?”

James regarded his profile. “Yes. I do.”

“Well you have it,” he mumbled, his hair slipping from behind his ear and conveniently shielding his face.

Acting on base instinct and because he could now - because he had read John’s inner thoughts and knew it was welcomed - he reached out and slowly tucked the hair behind John’s ear so that he could see his face. Out of uncertainty, the touch didn’t linger. 

Gradually, John turned his head up, his eyes dancing over James’ face. He felt his heart thump deeply as he counted the freckles. “How could you forgive me?” his voice was small, the threat of tears clogging the back of his throat.

“I told you John, every word I wrote to you was true.” When John still looked disbelieving he continued: “Besides, you didn’t betray me, not really; the definition of what you did might have been betrayal, but the act of it was motivated by something else entirely.”

John leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. James reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, reminded of a time long gone, of comfort exchanged and never enough.

“You were not being a coward John. You pulled off a feat that required emotional bravery. You are many things John, you have flaws like all men do, but a coward is not one of them.”

When John’s head ducked back up he was wiping tears from his cheeks. “Did you know back then? That I felt it too.”

James could only manage a nod as his own resolve began to break; he hadn’t seen John overcome with emotions since he thought Madi was dead.

“All that time? You really loved me all that time? The bluffs, when we met Hands, the island?”

“Yes John,” he sighed, the pain of it pushing into his chest, “all that time.”

John’s lip trembled. He whispered his next words as if afraid of the answer awaiting him: “Do you think our bond can be mended?” 

“In another lifetime I told you that I would put things back together again, so that we could move forward. I believed, then, that it was reparable. But in truth, I think our bond was never truly severed.”

John threw his arms around James’ neck, pulling him into an embrace. James only took a second to recover from the unexpected force before he too wrapped his arms around John’s back. He had to stop himself from moaning out of sheer pleasure at the man before him in his arms. 

Holding him felt like finally understanding a part of his missing self. 

James blinked free the tears at the corner of his eyes as the joy of his smile began to take over. He brought a hand up to the back of John’s head. He had dreamed about tangling his fingers in the man's long curls and in this moment he achieved it. 

When John began to pull away James’ hand travelled to John’s cheek, feeling his coarse beard as he cupped his face, their eyes searched one another. These glances were something neither of them were strangers too; unspoken longing and thoughts were constantly being exchanged, even in the past. 

Never able to stay silent long, John spoke: “I wish I could have had the chance to love you, to be loved by you.”

“We still do.”

John’s brows furrowed, a state of multiplying questions consuming his mind. “We do?”

“I’ve never stopped John.”

It was John who let out the broken sob as James bent their foreheads together. 

John sucked in a breath, staring into the multitude of green in James’ eyes. “Then, that is enough for me: knowing.”

“You came all this way just to know?”

“Because I feel it too and I needed this to be real.” John inched forwards slightly, their noses brushing.

“I am not afraid to do this now,” James admitted, “now that I know it will be welcomed.” James erased the distance between them, lightly pressing his lips against John’s. The kiss was filled with softness until the tip of James’ tongue darted out to taste John’s bottom lip, and the kiss became open. They were open. They were one.

John’s fist immediately sought purchase in James’ shirt, pulling them together. He felt two hands on his face now. He felt the scratch of James’ manicured beard. He felt his heart ache, as if it were about to burst forth with happiness. For so long he had dreamed of this man; for so long he had tried to understand their partnership and the discoveries within himself. It had been so long.

James parted from the kiss, a finger trailing over John’s swollen lip. He felt liberated. He felt validated. Everything about their past was true. The longing was realized. But then, he felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach.

“What is it?” John asked, reading the melancholy on James’ face, the old expression given new life. “What is it James?”

The sound of his given name only shifted sadness to anger. “I am happy here John.”

John pulled away. He nodded in understanding. He and Madi were happy in their way as well. “What do you imagine those two are discussing right now?” John looked back towards the cottage, attempting to prolong what really needed to be said.

“Us, I expect.”

“Do you think they know?”

James sighed with the heavy thought. “I believe Thomas does; Madi always knew.”

John snapped back to regard James, his hair bouncing around his shoulders. “She did?”

“For a smart man you can be quite obtuse.”

John should have been offended; but with a chuckle, he demonstrated that he knew James was right. He looked out into the distance, where the sky met the sea. “So that is it then. All is realized, all is mutual, and yet … is our beginning really to be the end of it?”

James thought of Thomas, then he thought of Miranda, then he thought of the missing parts of himself: one of which was seated before him. “Perhaps our end is the beginning? As time extends, it matters less.”

John smiled; it was a sight that brought James home, that brought his heart to full capacity, that made him whole. 

He pulled John into his arms and captured his lips in another kiss; a kiss that spoke of time passing; a kiss that roared as loud as the waves crashing against the bow of a ship; a kiss that was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this little story lovelies! 
> 
> Come cry with me about black sails on [twitter](https://twitter.com/JustADearie)
> 
> Come and check out my plethora of Silverflint aesthetics on [tumblr](https://justadearie.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I've got more stories planed for the future, so I hope to see you there!

**Author's Note:**

> It is also up to your interpretation whether John knew it was James he was corresponding with (I left intentional hints in the letters).


End file.
